


Drabbles

by androgenius



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-10
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 20:52:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androgenius/pseuds/androgenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another series of vignettes, this time stand-alones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You realize that your tweets are filled with typos, right?" he grins down at her where she's got her head perched in his lap, giggling madly. He's confiscated her iphone now that she's far more drunk than he is, but that hardly means that _he_ should be deprived the joy of looking through her things. "And you weren't even drunk here."

"What did I write?" Suddenly she's all attention, trying to grab her phone back from him from her perch in his lap, even as he holds it up a little higher to keep it out of her reach.

"That you're such an amazing experience." He can't help but laugh, grinning down at her in question. "Lea, I never knew. You should have told me. I might have given you a try sooner."

"Wait, really?" She shoots up into a kneeling position almost instantly, eyes wide. "Why didn't you say something, I always wanted to sleep with you!"

Okay, so he feels a bit bad for laughing as hard as he does at that, but she looks adorable, and is way too drunk to say anything rational-- or remember it. "You stick to _your_ boys, I'll stick to mine."

"But..." 

Getting Lea drunk has the unfortunate side effect of turning her into a toddler. She's always impatient and squirrelly, but this is easily ten times worse. The unfortunate truth, however, is that her status as a supposed adult-- he'll certainly never believe her-- means she's technically allowed to make these decisions on her own.

He just has to deal with the consequences.

" _No_ buts."

"But think about it! It'd be perfect, right! This secluded cabin? The wine... the candles. It's so romantic. No one but us up here. No one would ever have to know..." Jon feels his heartrate speed up as Lea leans in to kiss his neck. This is... fine. Normal for her, even. And still, he can't help but stiffen under her touch. 

It only gets worse when she starts rubbing at his cock through his pants.

" _Lea_..." he gently warns, but she's not listening, not that he expected her to.

"Kind of like how no one knows about that time we fucked on stage during a show? Or how hard you could get for me when you knew no one was watching us in our little booth whenever we'd go out to the club with our friends? Or that one time you called me while I was getting off, and it turned into phonesex? I remember those things, Jon. You know I do."

He can't help but groan, his head falling back. She's right, but that doesn't make the same true for what they're doing. Still, his cock springs right to attention for her, eagerly dripping precome as she frees him from the confines of his boxer briefs, her hand finding the perfect rhythm far, far too quickly.

"Lea-- you're drunk, you don't know what you're doing."

"Mmm, yes, I do. We have one bed, Jon," she grins, sitting up to tug off her shirt and making just as quick work of her jeans, leaving him to blatantly stare. "And I brought nothing but lingerie along with me."

"I'm aware of that," he moans, unable to do anything but grab hold of her hips when she moves on top of him, sliding down his length. This-- sex with a girl-- feels natural when it's _Lea_.

What's worse, he wouldn't change it for the world, groaning loudly as she starts up a dizzying pace on top of him, leaning down to kiss him, hard, all teeth and tongue and raw, primal, lust.

He knows, of course, the sort of things he's agreeing to when he says yes to an invitation to a secluded cabin in the mountains, just the two of them, when he doesn't stop her from drinking half a bottle of wine.

So maybe, just _maybe_ , when he comes inside of her with a low, possessive growl into her mouth, he can concede that, yes, he really does want this-- want _her_ \-- too.


	2. Chapter 2

  


Lea is, of course, absolutely beautiful, and everyone knows it. But pictures simply _can't_ do her justice, Jon reminded of that simple fact every damn time she gets off that plane and rejoins him in their city in his arms. 

He's not sure he'll ever get tired of looking at her, whether it's over skype-- not enough touching, his brain is quick to remind him as he swallows down the implications of the reminder-- the little picture of her that pops up on his phone whenever she calls him, on tv, whether it's in a commercial or anywhere else that actually deserves to showcase her stunning, radiant self, on an ad on a billboard, a magazine on a newsstand in Times Square, or just the internet.

It never compares to seeing the real thing again. 

Sometimes he'll turn his head and realize that, no, she's actually still in this city, that it's almost like having her here every day, seeing her all over again as if anew. 

GQ doesn't do her justice, just as Allure, PETA, and even Glee simply can't. No one can. Only in person when she's looking at him _like that_...

But he's not supposed to think about that, even if it doesn't stop him from taking his eyes off of her, not even once. 

Every time he looks at her, it's like he's falling in love with her all over again.

  


&

  


The best part about New York City, about landing in that perfect place she's always called home, is seeing Jonathan again. 

A couple of hours later, they're on stage, and he's spinning her, looking at her like she's the only girl-- no, the only _person_ \-- in the room that really matters.

Maybe she is, she can't be sure.

All she knows is that it's certainly true for her. Looking at him, she can't help it. It's like falling in love with him over and over. A million lifetimes wouldn't be enough to fall in love with him, so she's been granted more opportunities with every time she sees him again, holding on close to him, breathing in the lapels of the jacket he feels so uncomfortable wearing, because if anyone wasn't made for formal wear, it's Jonathan. 

She's almost afraid to look away for too long, to let go and allow her hands to stray from him even just for a second, lest he disappear again, Lea forced to return to the world where Jonathan is everything and Jonathan is perfect, and she can't just look into his eyes to know how much he (might) actually love her.

But tonight, it doesn't matter. Tonight, all that matters is that when he looks at her as though he wouldn't trade his moments with her for the world, Lea can imagine long enough that maybe, maybe, she's not wrong, that they fall in love with each other all over again (a little bit more each time) with every moment their eyes meet once more.


	3. Seven Minutes

The feeling of being back in Jon's arms is overwhelming, her senses fighting to take in all of him at once. The way he smells-- like honey and fresh sheets and love on a rainy Saturday morning-- the way she always fits perfectly into him, whether she's eager to bury her nose, her face, her forehead in the crook of his shoulder, the way he whispers in her ear that she's beautiful and that it's okay, because he's here now, he has her back again.

They've both been so busy, schedules overlapping and getting in the way of her seeing her soulmate, that this feels a little like being reborn from her own ashes, those of a workaholic who-- while she loves her work-- misses her _partner_ most of all.

"I missed you so much, daddy," she hears herself whisper wetly against him, and before she realizes it to stop herself from leaking all over his shirt, she's crying, clutching him a bit closer. 

"Baby," she hears him smile, and she just shakes her head against him.

"Jonathan Drew Groff, don't you _dare_ laugh at me for crying, do you hear me?"

But he's crying, too, laughing softly against her shoulder as he squeezes her a bit more tightly.

She has no idea how long it lasts, just holding onto him-- _honey, fresh sheets, love_ \-- but finally someone taps her on the shoulder and waves a make-up brush in her face. 

Right, she's been crying, throwing an apologetic look at Tracy for messing up her make-up. 

Jon's still holding onto her hand.


	4. Chapter 4

  


On particularly lonely Sunday afternoons, Lea will lie on her bed with Sheila and listen to old messages from Jon.

She's almost perfected lying to herself, that this is enough; that pretending not to miss him when he's in London and New York and thousands of miles away from her, that working more than anyone else just to forget about him, burying herself in passion for something that isn't Jonathan, inside out, upside down-- will someday be enough.

When his voice alone doesn't seem enough to bring absolution,(?) she'll place it into a different context, that maybe when the automated message tells her that he loves her, that he means it.

When he calls from London, he sounds like his father. From his cell phone, like his brother. Over skype, the face doesn't quite match.

When he calls from New York, he sounds like himself, and Lea feels homesick.

 _This is all I have_ she whispers to herself in her head as cameras try to steal him away from her, take away this moment of privacy. _Can't you let me have him to myself just a moment longer?_

Jon is pressing up against her back, holding her more solidly and securely than a gay best friend should, and Lea smiles a little more brightly and laughs a little more loudly than before. 


End file.
